


Wait for the Sunrise

by mad_mary_kidd (madmarykidd)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Bisexual Characters, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Characters, Glory Lives, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Kink, Mild S&M, NSFW, Rarepair, Spoilers, Suicidal Ideation, The Railroad (Fallout), graphic depictions of injury, m/m - Freeform, spoilers for minor characters' canon synth status, spoilers if you haven't read PAM's terminal entries re. Deacon, terminally ill characters (background)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23176591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madmarykidd/pseuds/mad_mary_kidd
Summary: Deacon-centric sequel to Mister In-Between. You don't need to have read it, but it helps! Deacon will move heaven and earth to see his mission to destroy the Institute completed - and he finds help in an unexpected quarter.
Relationships: Deacon/Sturges (Fallout)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	1. Come Back and Play

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here is the promised Deac-quel to Mister In-Between. It's been in the works for a while, but I've been pretty busy moving continents so I've had precious little time to work on it! This chapter picks up after the end of the main events of Mister, so it will help if you've read that already. If you haven't, here's what you need to know: 
> 
> Casey (my SoSu) promised Deacon he’d help the Railroad take out the Institute and show him the location of Acadia in exchange for his aid in a fight against the Gunners to save Sanctuary. Deacon saved some people’s lives by jumping on a grenade, nearly dying in the process - we find him here, recuperating. Seems wildly out of character, right? Well, he never does anything without a reason. (Also, MacCready has been given a new nickname from Casey - in addition to the affectionate version of his first name, Bobby. To MacCready's horror, Deacon has found out what it is and will not let him forget it. If you want to know how he got it, you’ll have to read Mister. lol.) 
> 
> Returning readers will be aware of my love of using song and movie titles for my chapter names and fic titles - this one’s titles and summaries are taken from Queen’s album, The Miracle. Showing my age here, but it was a big part of my formative years. Plus it’s Queen. Tell me Deacon wouldn’t _love_ Queen.
> 
> Summary: We got all night, all day, everybody's gone away

Deacon is surprised awake by the sound of a boot kicking a chair and scraping it across the broken tile. It’s not exactly welcome; consciousness is currently pretty agonizing, and he’s been blissfully avoiding it as much as he can over the last day or so.

He opens his eyes, squinting at the light. It’s not bright in here, but it’s definitely brighter than the inside of Deacon’s eyelids. He sees a large frame with a dark pompadour, hunched over as if trying to make itself smaller. Deacon closes his eyes and screws up his face. He’s not wearing his sunglasses, obviously, and it isn’t just the light that’s making him uncomfortable.

“Oh, darn it, I’m sorry,” says a hushed voice. It has a Southern drawl. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Hey, Sturges. I was bored of recuperating anyway,” says Deacon, eyes still closed. “Up and at ‘em, am I right?” it’s not up to his usual standard, but then neither is he. He is not pleased to find that words are still difficult and will only come slowly and pretty painfully. On the plus side, though, it sort of emphasizes the point.

“I’m sorry,” says Sturges again, looking pained. “I’ll leave you alone.” 

“No, it’s okay. I’m awake now,” says Deacon, opening his eyes at last. “Talk to me, Sturges. Take my mind off the searing agony.”

“Are you sure?” says Sturges, but sits down in the chair he kicked. “I won’t take up much of your time.” Honestly, now that Deacon can see without his eyes watering in the light, what he’s looking at isn’t so bad. Those muscles are enough to distract anyone. Jeez, they’re bigger than Deacon’s head.

“You know what? I could use a little light conversation.”

“I just came to thank you,” says Sturges earnestly, folding his hands in his lap. “For what you did. I know I wasn’t the only one there, but I remember seeing that grenade come flying in the window and thinking, ‘well, that looks like my number’. But it wasn’t. You saved my life, and I won’t forget it.”

Deacon is good at a number of things. Subterfuge. Sarcasm. Double entendres. Wearing plaid. Jumping on grenades, apparently, not that he intends to practice. Unfortunately, accepting earnest thanks is not among his many skills.

“Hey, well, y’know. Don’t tell anyone, but I only did it for the insurance payout. And the naps.”

Sturges gives the kind of smile Deacon sees people give when they aren’t sure if he’s joking, or being offensive, or neither, and Deacon instantly feels bad. “Well, it meant a lot to me,” Sturges says finally. If he is offended, he’s hiding it well. “And if there’s anything I can ever do for you, well, all you have to do is holler. Really. Anything at all. Well. That was all I had to say.”

Deacon hears the scrape of the chair again, much quieter this time.

“Hey, Sturges,” he says, turning the dickwad knob way down. The man took time out of his day to come and thank Deacon for saving his life; he doesn’t deserve for Deacon to be an asshole about it. “Any time. And thanks for what you did back there, too. Really.”

Sturges’ expression goes from puzzled and slightly hurt, to a small smile. “Least I could do. Feel better.” He lifts his chin in acknowledgment and leaves Deacon to drift back into an uncomfortable sleep.

~*~

He honestly doesn’t remember much about what happened; he’s pieced most of what he knows together from what other people have told him. The last thing he remembers is seeing the grenade flying in through the window and thinking, _nope_. He couldn’t risk Casey getting taken out by a stupid grenade. Casey owes the Railroad - if Deacon could keep him alive to take out the Institute like he promised, then he’d happily have given his life to do it. Casey’ll be more useful to them anyway. Deacon is capable, but Casey’s a fucking miracle worker. And what the Railroad needs is a fucking miracle.

When he’s asked, though, he keeps all of that to himself - even from Casey. Especially from him. All he says is that he remembers being pushed into the house by the Gunners with Casey and Preston and the others, and everything after that is a blank. From what various people have told him, Preston, Piper and Sturges held him together until the medics could arrive. Sturges doesn’t owe him anything - none of them do - but if he wants to do Deacon a favor then Deacon isn’t going to be churlish about it. He’s been enough of an asshole already.

~*~

Charmer and Bubbles are still around when Deacon is finally allowed to get up. Once the doctors approve Stimpaks, the relief is almost instant. The damage he took was fairly extensive, however, and the doc informs him that it might be a while before he’s back to normal.

He’s glad to have his sunglasses back on as he finally limps out of the house, still bandaged from neck to groin. Still though, several people look up and wave as he passes on his way down to Mama Murphy’s Pink Flamingo Bar and Cafe, and he is beginning to think that he might actually have to go under the knife for a new look. All this being recognized is making his neck itch.

That said, everyone who was there that day has done the same as Sturges over the last few days - visited to give their thanks and assure him that if there’s anything they can ever do for him, anything at all. It’s almost worth becoming a minor local celebrity, having this many favors he can pull in. Almost.

“You saved a lot of lives the other day,” says Mama Murphy, handing him a Gwinnett - his favorite, she knows from all the time he’s spent here waiting for Casey - and waving away his attempt to pay. “People I call family. Coupla drinks is the least I can do.”

“Oh you know me, always looking for creative ways to get myself killed,” he breezes, lifting the bottle in thanks.

“Yeah, you are, aren’t you?” she asks in her New England drawl, and Deacon suddenly feels as exposed as he did lying in bed without his sunglasses on. “Everybody makes mistakes, kid. You don’t have to atone with your life. Everybody gets another shot at happiness, even you; so make sure you’re around to enjoy it, okay?”

Hoo-boy, does Deacon’s poker face ever get a workout after that one. She can’t possibly know anything, he reassures himself. She’s just a nice, if a little batshit, old lady who does a few too many chems and says the first crazy thing that pops into her head. Stopped clocks, et cetera, et cetera. Right?

He puts on his bullshittiest grin and says, pretty convincingly if he does say so himself, “Ma’am, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure,” she says, with a grin of her own that is far too knowing for Deacon’s taste. He makes a mental note to avoid her, and goes and sits with Casey who is taking a rare break from repairs. His hands are covered in generator grease.

“How you feeling, buddy?” asks Casey with a wink, lifting his Nuka Cola in salute. He’s sitting just far enough away from the bar that Deacon can’t tell if he heard what Mama said or not. He eases himself down into a chair.

“Hey man, I could go ten rounds,” he says, and Casey laughs. “So what’s next?” Deacon asks. “You ready to go take out the Institute?”

“Yeah,” says Casey, to Deacon’s relief. He had thought maybe Casey would want to take a bit of a break after the last week or so; it’s been pretty action-packed. “I got a few things to do here first, and Bobby wants to come so he’ll need a few more days anyway. After that, sooner the better, right?”

This is longer than Deacon had hoped, but he can’t travel on his own like this. Sitting here in Sanctuary waiting for the Coursers to start arriving in force again has been almost more than he can bear. Even though he knows that these are settlers and not Railroad agents, Ticonderoga and Switchboard are still fresh in his mind and he still feels an unbearable urge to get everyone out as fast as he can. It’s like an itch he can’t scratch and he tells Casey as much.

“I know. Trust me, he won’t attack yet. He thinks we’ll be reeling from the battle,” Casey assures him. “And we are, I guess. He needs time to regroup himself, he lost a lot of Coursers that day.”

In Deacon’s mind, all this means is that they’re in way more danger than Casey thinks - the perfect time to finish off an enemy is when you have him on the back foot. But Casey knows his own kid, and Shaun’s betrayal is still fresh in his mind - Deacon isn’t about to argue. He trusts Casey’s judgment; if he didn’t, he’d have bounced when he found out the Brotherhood would be joining them for the party at Sanctuary.

~*~

It’s a pretty easygoing journey when Casey, Bobby and Deacon finally get going a couple days later; there are no Gunners anywhere, and precious few raiders. They pass a Gunner stronghold; it’s clearly been on fire, and fairly recently. Bobby and Deacon exchange grins. Bobby explains some of their interference mission from a day or so before the battle, to Casey’s amusement. There are settlers in dribs and drabs, all making their way back to the settlements Ronnie collected them from on her rescue mission. They see fewer and fewer as they make their way down through Cambridge and past Bunker Hill.

It rains the whole way, so naturally Bobby spends most of his time grumbling about how much he hates getting wet. Finally, the three of them arrive at the Old North Church without incident. It’s taken them a little longer than usual to get here thanks to the slightly slower pace set by Deacon’s and Bobby’s injuries, so evening has fully drawn in by the time they get there. To Bobby’s clear irritation, Deacon insists on watching carefully for a half hour or so before they enter. He wants to be certain they haven’t been followed; Institute spies are highly likely to be out and about right now, looking out for Casey’s movements. Once he’s satisfied, they head in. 

Desdemona looks up at the three of them dripping rainwater on the steps as they enter, her surprise turning quickly to concern when she sees Deacon’s bandages.

“Deacon!” She hasn’t seen him since he left here with MacCready, and that must be more than a week ago now. She hurries over to help him get to a chair.

“You like my new look? It’s all the rage in Paris,” he says, easing himself down into the chair she pulls out for him. He’s come a long way in his recovery, but the journey was long and tiring in spite of the absence of Gunners. He hates to show how tired he’s feeling, but he’s given little choice in the matter.

“What happened?” Desdemona asks with a glare at Casey as if this were all his fault.

“Well see it’s like this,” says Deacon before Casey can explain. “I bet MacCready ten caps that I could do a backflip over this burning car, and he said no way, so I - ”

Desdemona holds up a hand. “Charmer?” she asks, in her most patient voice, before Deacon can get to the part about the nuke mine. Her loss.

“Actually, Deacon’s kind of a hero,” says Casey, through a smile. “By the time we got to Sanctuary Hills, the Gunners had already taken it. We had to fight to get it back. And in the process, some of us got pinned down in one of the houses. Grenade came in through the window and we thought it was all over, until Deacon here jumped on it.”

Desdemona’s expression says that if this had come from anyone but Charmer, she would have an easier time believing Deacon’s version. He is a little offended.

“Is that true?” she asks him.

“Yup,” Deacon confirms, a little stiffly. “I’m a hero. Yay me.” Perhaps it’s habit talking but he wishes Charmer had obfuscated, even a little. He just feels uncomfortable with the truth of the incident, preferring that as few people know about it as possible. He’s not being modest; it’s just that the less anyone knows about _anything_ he does, the more generally comfortable he is.

“Well. That’s… above and beyond. I’m assuming you were able to take Sanctuary back?” she asks Charmer, and Deacon decides to sneak away and try to get some sleep. He doesn’t need to hear it all again, and it’ll take some explaining. He stands up and Desdemona lifts her hand again; he stops.

“Go see Dr. Carrington,” she orders him. “Have him look you over and change out those wet bandages. Then get some rest.”

He was hoping she wouldn’t say that. The last person he wants to see right now is Carrington, but he nods, too tired to argue. “Yes, boss.”

Carrington is sleeping; Deacon prods him with a foot until he wakes up. He is, predictably, unhappy about this, and less happy still to see Deacon.

“Wha… Deacon? What do you wa- what happened to you?” he asks, pulling himself upright.

“Jumped on a grenade,” says Deacon, and Carrington scoffs. Asshole.

“Of course you did,” he says. “I suppose you saved countless lives doing it, too.”

“That’s what they tell me. Dez says I have to let you look at me,” he replies, too tired to be smart about it, and sits down. Carrington sighs.

“Fine, let me get my things.”

A few moments later he is unwinding Deacon’s bandages. When he sees what’s beneath them, he gives Deacon a sharp, surprised look. He’s seen injuries from frag grenades before, Deacon knows, and is recognizing them now.

“You didn’t… _really_ jump on a grenade, did you?” he asks, disbelieving in spite of the evidence.

“I said I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but I didn’t think you _actually_ …” He goes back to peering at the wounds on Deacon’s chest and belly, inspecting them closely. “You seem to be healing well,” he says, straightening. “I’ll give you a quick clean up and another Stimpak, and some fresh bandages. Hold on.”

What Deacon wants more than anything is to go to bed, but he sits and waits patiently for Carrington to gather more supplies. It takes a few minutes, during which Deacon tries not to look down at himself too closely; but finally the doctor returns, arms full of clean bandages and Stimpaks. A few moments more of poking and prodding, and finally Carrington straightens up and stands back.

“There. That should last you a day or two. Come back after that and I’ll check you over again,” he says. And then, “Would you like some Med-X? It’ll help with the pain.”

Now this, this has Deacon surprised. Carrington is not the type to hand out chems like they’re candy; he needs to see real evidence that they’re needed. Deacon is still in a good amount of pain, but he shakes his head. Med-X might help him sleep, but for one he doesn’t like to sleep too deeply at HQ having made that mistake before, and for two he doesn’t trust himself around chems any more - and _definitely_ not Med-X. Deacon doesn’t have many days now where he could lay down and never get up again, and he’d like to keep it that way. He’ll take the pain, thanks.

“I’m trying to cut down,” he says and stands up. Carrington huffs but says nothing. “Thanks,” says Deacon, for whatever it’s worth, and goes the hell to bed.

~*~

He doesn’t need Med-X to sleep after all, it turns out. When he wakes, Charmer is still talking to Dez; or perhaps they’ve slept in the interim too, Deacon doesn’t know. MacCready certainly has - in fact he still is, on a sleeping bag in the corner, snoring gently. He took quite a beating in the battle, too, apparently. Much as they might needle each other, he does genuinely hope MacCready’s life gets a little easier after this. He’s earned it, though Deacon would die before telling him that. He pushes himself upright and goes in search of coffee, then shuffles over to join the round table.

“How are you doing, buddy?” Charmer asks as he sits down gingerly.

“Fresh as a daisy,” he says. “What’s the plan? We taking down the Institute or what?” At this, Desdemona gives Charmer a frown; he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“Yes,” she says, “but not yet. We still have some preparation to do. And I have a job for you first,” she adds, still speaking to Deacon but with a look at Charmer. He stands, knowing his cue when he sees it.

“I’m gonna go wake Bobby,” he says. “See you both later. And Dez… I’m sorry.”

She purses her lips. “Better late than never, I guess. I just hope it’s not _too_ late.” Charmer makes an apologetic face and disappears. Deacon raises his eyebrows at Dez; she shakes her head. Okay, he won’t ask then. He trusts her to have it handled; he doesn’t need to know.

“So what’s my mission, boss?” Deacon asks, watching as Charmer goes over to Bubbles and kneels down, gently shaking him awake. If Deacon was given to sappiness he might admit that those two are cute as hell together. He looks back to Dez.

“First… Deacon, what the hell were you thinking?” Desdemona asks. It’s not quite a demand. “Why on earth would you risk your life for the Minutemen? We need you _here_. The _Railroad_ needs you here.”

This again. Deacon suppresses a sigh and smiles. “No man is an island, boss,” he says beatifically. “I know you hate socializing, but there are worse things than friends. Besides, I have quite a few choice favors I can pull in, now.” It’s not why he did it at all, but he hopes that it will appeal.

She rolls her eyes. “Just… Don’t do it again, okay? You’re too important. And on that note, we had a message come in asking for help. They asked for you by name,” says Dez, and instantly the hair stands up on the back of Deacon’s neck.

“My bad. So, any ideas about location for our new HQ?” he says, already planning his next visit to Dr. Sun in spite of the fact that Dez clearly has a good reason to trust this message, whatever it is. If she didn’t, none of them would be here. Desdemona gives a small smile.

“Don’t worry,” she assures him. “The message came through Stockton with another name attached: _Curie_.”

Well, now wasn’t this interesting. From what Deacon heard, Curie left Sanctuary with Danse - yeah, _that_ Danse - shortly before the Gunners arrived, and no-one has seen or heard from them since. He leans forward.

“Ah, our brand new G5. Go on.”

“She says she has a friend who needs our assistance,” Dez tells him. “She wants you to meet them at a place called Listening Post Bravo. It’ll be tomorrow, now. I wasn’t sure if you’d be back so I was going to send Glory on her own, since she knows her, but if you’re up to it I’d like you to go too.”

If it’s Curie then Deacon knows she’s asking in good faith, but what concerns him is Danse. Is he this ‘friend’? A wild thought pops into his mind, but he dismisses it almost out of hand. It would be way too… Poetic. The world just doesn’t work like that. So what the hell could he possibly need from the Railroad? Is it some kind of trap? Nah; Danse doesn’t have a devious bone in his body, much as Deacon can’t stand him. Whatever is going on here, it’s worth dragging his sorry carcass to Listening Post Bravo to investigate. He considers telling Dez that Curie was last seen traveling with a known Brotherhood Paladin, but decides against in case she pulls the mission. Whatever it is, Deacon can handle Danse. 

“We’ll check it out,” he says. It shouldn’t take too long to get to Bravo, he can see as he studies the map. He can kick back here today and rest up a little. Annoy Carrington some more. “Has Glory been briefed?”

Dez nods. “Yes. She’s not happy about it, but she’ll go.”


	2. It's Only a Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’ll hear me pleading, I’ll say for God’s sake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, to wrap up the intersection with Divergent Behaviour. Deacon gets what he wants, as usual

Charmer and Bobby are on their way out on some order of Dez’s just as Deacon and Glory arrive back at the Church. “Oh, hey,” says Bobby, stopping when he sees Glory. “I have your rifle.” He produces it, and a couple of boxes of .308s, and hands it to her. “Thanks for the loan of it, it really helped.”

“Wow,” she says, her lips quirking into a smile. “Good job, Mac. Honestly I wasn’t expecting to see it again.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” says Bobby.

“No problem,” says Glory. Bobby gives her a look like he can’t tell if she’s joking, and Deacon keeps his own face perfectly still. Charmer watches the whole exchange, hiding his amusement with somewhat less skill than Deacon but still enough to keep it from Bobby. Not that it takes much.

“Well… good luck with whatever it is _you’re_ doing,” says Bobby after a moment, and turns to go after Charmer.

“You too, Bu- uh, Bobby,” says Deacon, earning himself a glare. Glory gives him a questioning look, but he shakes his head. He doesn’t need to actually tell anyone in order to get some amusement out of it. In fact, it’s funnier if he doesn’t.

~*~

Though Glory had almost seemed convinced when they left Listening Post Bravo, she has apparently changed her mind again by the time they get back to the Church. Desdemona listens, smoking in silence, as Glory and Deacon both give her their report and conflicting opinions on what to do about it.

“He’s offered us his Institute chip as a gesture of goodwill,” says Deacon.

“But we still have to make ourselves vulnerable again before he can make good on that promise,” Glory points out. “Amari, too.” Deacon shakes his head.

“Where’s the trust,” he says, half to himself.

“For _those_ guys? If you think Maxson wouldn’t crush us like bugs if he had any idea where we are, you’re an idiot.”

“ _He’s_ not Maxson,” says Deacon. “And he’s never going to know where we are, so he couldn’t tell Maxson about it if he wanted to.”

I don’t get why you’re pulling so hard for this,” says Glory suddenly. “You hate the guy.”

“And I don’t get why you’re _not_ pulling for it,” says Deacon. “If it was anyone else you’d have his back as a fellow synth.”

“He _says_ he’s a synth,” retorts Glory. “Which he can’t prove until we go back there and get at that chip. If he even _has_ one. But what I know about him for sure is that he’s Brotherhood."

“He’s not, not any more. Didn’t you see his Power Armor? He’s painted all over his little merit badges.”

“So?”

“So, that guy _bleeds_ Brotherhood, or he used to. This is the only thing I can think of that could ever make him even consider leaving, never mind cover up his colors. No, he’s gone into hiding from them. Besides, if Maxson was going to send someone to infiltrate our operations, that guy’s the last person he’d have sent. Subterfuge is _not_ his forte.” He turns to Desdemona, addressing her directly.

“Say he’s telling the truth, and we abandon him to his fate. If the Brotherhood get ahold of him they’ll destroy him, G5 too, no question. How are you gonna feel knowing you let that happen? _Everything_ we do here is a calculated risk. If we never took a chance we couldn’t help anybody.”

“This is a hell of a risk,” says Desdemona at last. She at least looks torn, which is better than Deacon had been hoping for.

“I know. But if we don’t do it, what does that say about us, about our philosophy? That we’ll abandon it the second it gets difficult, or inconvenient?”

There is a long pause, during which Desdemona looks hard at Deacon, and he gazes levelly back. “So we’re really about to assist a member of the Brotherhood of Steel, on the strength of nothing more than his word and your faith in him. Not only that, but apparently we’re also allowing him to keep his memories,” says Dez at last. She shakes her head. “Every day you find new ways to push me, Deacon.”

Glory makes a disgusted noise and throws herself away from the table. They both watch her stalk away, Desdemona with a slightly wistful look. Deacon knows she hates disagreeing with her

“She’ll come around,” says Deacon gently. Desdemona glares at him.

“I need you to swear to me that if I sign off on this, it won’t blow up in our faces,” she says in a low voice. “We are about to take on the biggest operation in the Railroad’s history, the mission that could finally end our struggle with the Institute forever. If the Brotherhood swoop on us now we’ll miss what could be our only shot at this, not to mention losing more agents and resources than we can afford. I need to know that I’m not dooming the lives of every agent here, not to mention the lives of all the synths who are relying on us to be rescued.”

He takes off his sunglasses; Desdemona blinks, and he realizes that this might be the first time she’s ever seen him without them. “I would give my life to make sure this operation at the Institute succeeds,” he says quietly. “And I would die before I let anything get in the way of it. You have my word - we can trust Danse.” Words he never thought he’d hear himself say.

Desdemona regards him seriously; for a horrible moment Deacon thinks she might refuse after all.

“Alright,” she says at last. “I trust you. I’ll have Tom get a message to Amari to meet you and Glory at Listening Post Bravo tomorrow. But get it done as quickly as possible and get back here, because I have another mission for you.”

“You won’t regret it, boss,” says Deacon with a beatific grin, putting his sunglasses back on.

“I better not.”


	3. Playing Really Cool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And looking so mysterious...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deacon can’t help but make alterations to Desdemona’s plans - as much as she’ll let him, anyway. Forgive me if the techniques and timeline for entering the Institute aren’t quite canon, I don’t currently have access to my PlayStation so this is all from memory. Another long one!

He plops the chip down on the table in front of Dez upon his and Glory’s return. “As promised,” he says. Dez looks at him, picks up the chip, drops it on the floor and crushes it under her heel.

“Call it a goodwill gesture,” she says, not quite smiling.

“I doubt I’ll ever see him again, but if I do I’ll let him know,” says Deacon. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

“Well, let’s hope so. Alright, if you’re ready, I have your next mission. We are starting to put things in place for our assault on the Institute,” she says. “We’re naming it Operation Sunrise, by the way.”

Deacon raises his eyebrows. “Apropos. I like it. So how do you wanna fuck this yao guai?” he asks, and Dez smiles.

“Extremely carefully,” she says, choosing to acknowledge one of his jokes for once; he appreciates it. “The plan is, as Charmer and I have arranged it, that we storm the Institute’s stronghold. Directly.”

Deacon whistles. “That’ll get their attention.”

“Hopefully not at first. We’re going stealth to start with, hopefully once they realize what’s going on it’ll be too late for them to do anything about it. Now that Charmer has finally handed over that holotape he promised me months ago, Tom can use it to pinpoint the Institute’s co-ordinates. Charmer’s out right now gathering materials for a second and third teleporter, he’s passed the schematics Virgil gave him to Tom. He says the last one he used is beyond repair, and that even if it hadn’t broken down when it was used, the battle at Sanctuary Hills would have likely destroyed it anyway. We’re going to build two - one here, and one in a location to be determined by Charmer.

“He’ll go in first using his Pip-Boy, and do what he can to disable their security. He will then signal us, and our people will start sending the rest of us in via the two teleporters. I want you to go in first, from here, and make contact with PATRIOT. Then, you and PATRIOT will start transporting the synths to the relay room to teleport out. Once that’s underway, I expect that even with disabled security, the Institute will figure out what’s going on. Once they do, Glory and I will teleport in and lead the heavies against the Coursers.”

“Sounds like a great night out. I’ll have my suit pressed.”

“Speaking of suits, Charmer has procured several sets of Power Armor for us, but they need a lot of attention before they’ll be of any use. Your next mission is to go to the Atom Cats and get Zeke to agree to fix them up. Tell him they’ll need winterized coatings, too, to protect from the Institute’s energy weapons.”

Deacon isn’t sure about this. “We can’t do it in-house? The last time I spoke to Zeke, he said here are your options: cheap, fast, or good. Pick two. And if you want them minty-winter-fresh too, we might just have to remortgage this place,” he finishes, indicating the crypt around them.

“I know, but Tom doesn’t know the first thing about Power Armor and Charmer won’t have time to do it himself. The Atom Cats are the only ones who know Power Armor well enough to fix these things, outside of the Brotherhood. It’ll be expensive, but there’s nothingelse for it.”

“Actually, thinking about it, I might know someone who could help,” says Deacon, as a light switches on. “I have a favor I can call in.” He remembers Casey mentioning that the Power Armor worn by Baker, the Gunner who led the attack on Sanctuary Hills, had been stolen from Sturges’ personal collection that he’d been working on back in Quincy. A collection Sturges had been frustrated and heartbroken to have to leave behind, and furious to see protecting the leader of the Gunners. Deacon winces anew, thinking what a kick in the teeth that must have been for the poor guy. But it means Sturges knows Power Armor, and Deacon knows he’ll jump at the chance to help him.

“Can this person be trusted?” Dez asks.

“I hope so. He’s good people, and I saved his life once.” He can see Dez’s bullshit-o-meter taking a reading, and it comes up clean. She nods.

“Alright. Charmer has arranged to have the suits taken to Bunker Hill. They have a good Power Armor station over there, and access to whatever tools and materials are needed. He’s paid for a couple of rooms at the Savoldis’ for a week, too. Take your guy up there, make sure he has everything he needs. You’ll have to stay and assist to make sure they’re finished on time, though.”

“Out in the open, huh?” This has him uneasy. He’d been hoping to bring Sturges here, or at least somewhere out of sight. “Can’t we take the Power Armor to Sanctuary?”

“There’s no time,” she says. “We’ve already wasted enough on your Brotherhood friend. Besides, if we try to conceal what we’re doing and someone finds out, it'll be a lot harder to explain away. Charmer has put out the word that he’s selling the suits to make money after the attack on Sanctuary. That way if there _are_ Institute spies watching, they can report that he’s more concerned with rebuilding his settlements after the attack than going after _them_.”

She has a point, but Deacon almost always prefers to trust to stealth over being brazen. “You really sure about this?” he asks, unable to help himself, and immediately she gives him a warning look.

“Don’t make me pull rank, Deacon, you know I hate that,” she says. “If you wanted to be the one giving orders and setting mission parameters, you shouldn’t have bowed out from the leadership contest after Pinky. I know you’re one of the longest-serving members here, and believe it or not, I do respect that. It’s why I let you go ahead with Project Wanderer, against my better judgment and in spite of the fact that I could have used you elsewhere, and why I let you have your way over the Brotherhood synth. For once in your life, Deacon, do as you’re told.”

This is pretty stern, for her. “Okay, okay. You’re the boss. I’m on it.”

She’s right about the leadership thing; Deacon never wanted a corner office. How would he ever get anything done? No, much better to work from behind the scenes. Maybe he relies a little too much on the shadows, but it’s a habit borne of long experience. It’s yet to let him down, but like he said - she’s the boss.

She’s wrong about his being one of the longest-serving Railroad members, though. He is _the_ longest-serving member, though no-one here knows it but him. Not for sure, anyway. The only ones who might have an inkling as to how long Deacon has been with the Railroad are Dez and Carrington. Dez has her suspicions about what really happened to ‘John D.’, but Carrington just thinks he’s an idiot and nothing could suit Deacon better.

He gives Desdemona a winning smile and takes his leave.

~*~

“Deacon,” says Preston, lowering his laser musket. The rain has been coming down in sheets since Lake Quannapowitt, making visibility difficult; Deacon had to get closer than usual to the bridge before Preston could recognize him. The Colonel wipes the rain off his face. “What are you doing here? I thought you left with General Raines?”

Deacon is pretty sure the rain has soaked right through his pack to all his disguises, so he doesn’t even have a dry change of clothes. If he doesn’t get pneumonia it’ll be a fucking miracle. Like his lungs need _that_ on top of a grenade blast to the chest. And just when Carrington had given him the all-clear to take the bandages off, finally.

“What can I say, who _wouldn’t_ love a vacation in sunny Sanctuary Hills.” He lifts his face to the sky, squinting against the raindrops even behind his sunglasses.

“Well, you’re always welcome,” says Preston, with an uncertain smile. “Mama’s serving silt bean coffee at the Flamingo today if you need to warm up, and we have a few spare beds after… Well. You know.” His face falls at the memory of the events of the last couple of weeks.

“Thanks,” says Deacon, regretting his glibness a little. “How are you holding up? How’s Piper?”

At the mention of her name Preston’s smile returns, and has lost its uncertainty. “She’s okay,” he says. “Been a great help around here. There’s a lot to do with all the repairs, but we both prefer keeping busy. How about you? Healing up okay?”

“Ah, you know. There’s a few bits that wouldn’t bolt back on, but I’m mostly in one piece. Listen, is Sturges around? I have a little project, and I’m hoping maybe he might lend his expertise.”

“I think he’s down at the Red Rocket,” says Preston, and his expression, whether he’s aware of it or not, says that this troubles him. Deacon remains quiet and waits for Preston to fill the silence - an old trick, but a good one. “He’s been spending more and more time down there on his own lately. I hope he’s okay,” Preston continues after a moment. Hmm.

“Thanks. I’ll go look in on him.” He decides to take Sturges a coffee. He could probably use one, whatever he’s doing.

~*~

The rain will probably cool both the coffees by the time he gets to Red Rocket but he decides to go for it anyway, hoping the gesture will be as appreciated as the coffee itself. Sturges is lying on a tarp underneath the large generator outside; when he pops his head out in response to Deacon’s soft, ‘hey’, he is wet and covered in streaks of dirt, and the scent of engine oil and fresh sweat reaches Deacon’s nose. Well, _hello_ there, previously undiscovered kink. Where have _you_ been hiding?

“Oh, hey,” says Sturges, surprised and pleased and - wary? - to see him. Deacon notes the brief emotion before it is smothered in a sunny smile. Sturges pulls himself out from under the generator while Deacon swallows and tries hard not to watch the muscles working under his dirt-streaked skin, and stands up wiping his hands. The pompadour is unaffected by the rain in any way, Deacon notes with brief, vague jealousy. Maybe Deacon should ask for tips; he wishes his wig would hold up half as well. It’s in his bag right now, getting sadder and wetter by the second.

“Thought you could use this,” Deacon says, handing over the mug. “Pretty tropical out today.”

“Heh.” Sturges laughs, looking up at the iron-gray sky, shielding his eyes from the freezing rain. “Well that’s mighty kind,” he says, accepting the coffee with a grateful smile. “You already been up to Sanctuary?” He wanders in under the cover of the building, and Deacon ambles after him.

“Yeah, I came in cross-country through Abernathy, so I skipped right past Red Rocket. What are you doing down here all on your lonesome?” He’s just making conversation; definitely not digging. Or flirting. He leans back on the workbench and sips his coffee; he has to hide his reaction to the awful taste, but at least it’s still warm.

“Burnin’ daylight on that hunk o’ junk,” says Sturges, pointing with his wrench at the generator, now hidden from view behind the wall. It’s clearly giving him a lot of trouble; he’s about as close as Deacon has ever seen him to annoyed. “Tie a cap to it and throw it away, and I could say I lost somethin’.” Sturges sips his own coffee and makes a very understandable face.

“Maybe you could break it down for parts?” Deacon suggests.

Sturges waves a hand. “Naw, she’ll get there. Just needs a little patience and a lot of wrenching. Or a lot of patience and a little wrenching, I’m not sure yet.”

“Work smarter, not harder,” Deacon advises, tongue in cheek. He adds a grin, aware that sometimes it’s hard for other people to tell when he’s kidding.

“Oh, I try,” says Sturges, returning the grin. “So what brings you to our damp little corner of the Commonwealth? I thought you headed downtown with Bobby and the General.”

“Yeah, I was getting kinda bored down there waiting for something to happen, so I thought I’d come back up north where it’s more exciting,” he says, casting casually around the room to see if it will offer any clues. As well as the workshop there’s a Power Armor station - it was already here when Casey cleared the place out. He hadn’t liked to scrap it, but it doesn’t seem to have seen much use. There’s Red Rocket’s only bed in here too. There were more beds here after the battle of Sanctuary Hills, but once Ronnie and the settlers she’d collected on her way here started to make their way back home, Casey dismantled them and used the steel to fix Sanctuary’s turrets.

All of these are things Casey has done, or at least brushed the dust off of, but there are a few touches that must have been added by Sturges himself. There’s an Unstoppables poster that has been pasted over the safety signs that just wouldn’t release their hold on the wall after two hundred years. Casey doesn’t tend to bother with decorations like that anywhere but his own house. Not only that, but it’s almost perfectly square to the ceiling and the edges of the walls - Casey doesn’t have the time or patience for that kind of precision. It shows an enlarged version of the comic book cover illustration where Manta-Man fights Commie-Kazi, and he’s being restrained by three evil-looking dolphins with bombs strapped to their backs.

Interestingly, the same issue is sitting on a table next to the bed. Big fan of Manta-Man, then, not that this tells Deacon much. There are various electronic and mechanical devices on the bench in varying states - some are shells with the guts pulled out, and others look as though they might actually fire up. These must be the reason, or at least the excuse, for Sturges’ presence here. Lastly, there is a cooler with a couple of empties stacked nearby. Not much to go on.

As Deacon finishes speaking, Dogmeat moseys in from the area around the front counter. “Hey, boy, what are you doing here?” he asks, crouching down to pet him; he wanders over and accepts the fuss with a wide, doggy grin. Sturges shakes his head, his smile turning fond as he watches Deacon pet the dog.

“I told him to stay up at Sanctuary,” he says. “More people up there to play with, but he went and followed me down here anyhow. Darnedest thing. Not that I mind, at least he don’t talk my ear off. Keeps the molerats down, too.”

“This is where Casey found him, right?” Deacon asks. “Maybe he thinks of this place as his home.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I guess this is kind of a spiritual home for you too,” says Deacon, looking up. Sturges makes a ‘you got me’ face.

“I guess it is,” he says. “It’s quiet, and there’s a lot of stuff to tinker with,” he says indicating the items strewn around the shop, which Deacon will charitably not think of as ‘junk’. It doesn’t go down well with Casey when he calls it that, and he has a feeling it will go worse with Sturges, in spite of what he just said about the generator.

Odd, now that Deacon thinks about it. There is a lot that still needs repairing up at Sanctuary, according to Preston, and yet the resident handyman is spending more and more time down here by himself tinkering with not-junk. Surely there are generators up at Sanctuary that need attention? He can’t have fallen out with Preston, or that much would have been obvious when Deacon spoke to him. Does Sturges not feel welcome up there anymore? Why not? Why the self-imposed exile? All interesting questions.

“You ever get to use that thing?” Deacon asks, straightening up and raising his chin at the Power Armor station. He watches Sturges’ face carefully as he says this; reason number one for the sunglasses. The man turns almost wistful.

“Naw,” he says, and sighs. “I used to love messin’ with Power Armor, don’t much get the chance these days. Not after Quincy. All the suits up at Sanctuary belong to the General, and he likes fixin’ ‘em up himself. Was thinkin’ about saving up a few caps, see if he’s in the market to sell one of ‘em, but there’s still a lot of other stuff I gotta do first.” 

“Not after Quincy?” Deacon echoes, and Sturges turns from wistful to outright sad.

“Yeah. Had three real nice sets comin’ along down there. Bought ‘em offa Zeke, back when I had a few caps to throw around. Friend of mine, runs the Atom Cats garage outside of Quincy. Kinetic servos, lead plating, rad scrubbers… You name it. Was even lookin’ at getting a jet pack onto one of ‘em, though it eats up fusion cores. Maybe we might’a had a fightin’ chance that day if we’d been able to get to ‘em, but the damn Gunners cut us off and we just had to run.” He shakes his head at the loss; it seems to have affected him almost as much as the loss of the people down there. “Damn near broke my heart to see that Gunner asshole wearing one of ‘em when he showed up here, pardon my French and may he rot in Hell.”

“Yeah, that’s gotta sting,” says Deacon with genuine sympathy. He didn’t know Sturges was a friend of Zeke’s. Small world.

“That’s one way o’ puttin’ it.” Dogmeat pads over to Sturges and butts him gently in the thigh; Sturges reaches down absently and scratches his ears. 

“But now that you mention it, it does bring me to my point,” says Deacon. “You remember you said that if I ever needed anything, all I had to do was holler?”

Sturges nods. “Yeah, of course.”

“Well, as it happens Casey and I have a little project going and we could really use your expertise. We came across some suits of Power Armor that we want to fix up, but Casey doesn’t have time and I wouldn’t know where to start. What do you think? Would you help us?”

As he has been speaking, Sturges has broken out into a genuine smile. “Really? Just tell me when and where,” he says. “Can’t say as it’ll feel much like repaying you for savin’ my life, but if that’s what you need I’d be more’n happy to do it for you.”

Recognizing the expressions people make - or hide, just as often - when they’re into someone is part of Deacon’s job, and noticing them sort of happens automatically now. Even when those expressions are made in response to himself, in his current incarnation. Knowing when someone finds you attractive isn’t vain, it’s extremely useful intel - it’s only vain if you’re not surprised by it, and Deacon always is. No accounting for taste, but if it will earn him a favor or two where he might otherwise have got nothing then he’ll take it and not ask questions. He’s seen this look from Sturges once before, when Deacon first arrived in Sanctuary Hills with Casey - it was there and gone so quickly that Deacon dismissed it, not sure it hadn’t just been imagination. Or wishful thinking, perhaps. But here it is again now, as he looks at Deacon over the rim of his coffee cup. As if he’d be _more’n happy_ to do a few other things for him, too.

Which… actually, that would explain Manta-Man. A- _duh_.

Though this turn of events will certainly make the next week’s work easier, it also could present a problem - one Deacon did not anticipate when he came here. “Well that’s great,” he says, storing this new information away and making his outward reaction deliberately neutral. Positive, but blandly so; just as if he hadn’t noticed Sturges making eyes at him. “I appreciate it, I really do. The suits are up in Bunker Hill so it will involve a little bit of travel if that’s okay.”

Sturges blinks, suddenly wary again. ‘Wary’ is interesting, especially twice in five minutes. Is he afraid of traveling? He came all the way up here from Quincy, with Gunners and ghouls and raiders on his ass, how is a little jaunt to Bunker Hill with a buddy - a sexy, _sexy_ buddy - even remotely intimidating? Could be PTSD, Deacon thinks. Or agoraphobia. Not everyone is like Casey, brushing off blows both psychological and physical that would cripple an ordinary human being. Does Deacon _scare_ Sturges? He can’t see how that’s possible; Sturges could snap Deacon’s spine in half with one hand while eating a snack cake with the other if he wanted to. And no, that thought does _not_ turn Deacon on, in some kind of weird masochistic way. Absolutely not. How dare you.

“Sure, that’s fine,” says Sturges, in contrast to his expression and breaking Deacon from his reverie. “I’ll have to clear it with Preston first, but I’m sure he won’t mind. When, and for how long?”

“As soon as possible. I was hoping to leave tomorrow. And it’ll be about a week, maybe a little longer depending on how much work is needed.”

Sturges blinks. “Tomorrow? Wow, that’s… soon. Okay.” He swallows, and takes a breath, blowing it all out at once. He really is nervous, Deacon thinks. Why? It doesn’t make sense.

“If you need a day or so…” Deacon begins, but Sturges waves a hand.

“Naw, it’s fine,” he says. “Nothin’ here that won’t wait. So what are we talkin’, T-45? T-51?” To his faint horror, Deacon realizes that he didn’t think to ask.

“All kinds,” he says. It’s probably true. When K-L-E0 told Casey to ‘purchase a variety in case of boredom’ he really took it to heart. Everything he owns comes in several flavors, and Deacon can’t see that Power Armor would be any different.

“How many sets?”

“Five or six, I think. They just need to be up and running, nothing fancy. Unless you want to,” he adds, seeing Sturges’ face fall a little. “They will need extra protection from energy weapons, though. I’m told that’s a thing.”

“What about parts and materials?”

“Parts should all be there. As for materials, we can get you what you need.”

“Well, alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, in case you were wondering, I have been watching Letterkenny


	4. Gotta Get Me a Game Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m a man with a one-track mind, so much to do in one lifetime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deacon gets introspective, and takes a hands-on approach to his problem

Deacon makes his way back up to Sanctuary as afternoon slips into evening, not that there’s much distinction between the two today. It’s still raining hard, and the normally quiet waters under the bridge into Sanctuary are starting to churn. He can see the difference even in the short time he spent down at Red Rocket. The guard has changed and Preston has gone, presumably somewhere drier, lucky him. Deacon is glad if it means he won’t be asked any questions about Sturges. He couldn’t answer them even if he were so inclined, he’s still as clueless as to Sturges’ absence at Sanctuary as anyone else. He didn’t try especially hard to find out why he’s cloistered himself down there, but then that wasn’t his priority. Poking too hard at something Sturges obviously didn’t want to talk about might have got his back up - he might even have refused to help with the Power Armor and Deacon doesn’t have time for that.

He goes to the Pink Flamingo for some grub; there are a few people crowded around the bar itself under the awning out of the rain, but the tables are open to the pouring sky and therefore empty. Luckily everyone at the bar seems to be new-ish settlers, not close friends of Casey’s. Even so, one of them recognizes him and insists on paying for his radstag stew and razorgrain bread as a thank you for saving Preston and Casey. He accepts - even though it makes his jaw twitch - purely because he doesn’t want to come off as an asshole. He is one, but that isn’t the settler’s fault. It’s too late, anyway, they all know who he is around here. He perches on one of the bar stools, scooting it forward as far as he can get to keep the rain off his back while he eats. He doesn’t make eye contact with Mama Murphy, and nor does she say anything except to take his order; a fact for which Deacon is unspeakably glad.

He spends the night at Sanctuary as Preston had suggested, and bunks up in one of the recently vacated beds. No time for sentiment in the Commonwealth; and life goes ever on. The hammering of the rain on the patched roof mingles with the low burble of the turrets and it should have been easy to drop off to that, especially after his walk from HQ, but Deacon lies awake long after the other settlers have begun to snore. The pompadour and the sideburns and the open easy smile keep floating up in front of his eyes. Not to mention the biceps, and the wet, dirty t-shirt. It’s taken Deacon many years to perfect the technique of divorcing his thoughts from his expression, and boy was today a test of his skill.

Which brings him to the unanticipated problem from earlier. Scratch that - it _is_ the unanticipated problem. Deacon can lie as easy as breathing to other people, but lying to himself has always been impossible so he never tries. He knows himself pretty well and has been very comfortable with his own likes and preferences for many years now. It’s not often a new kink will come along and punch him in the face, but hey, he can take that in his stride. Life is a smorgasbord and Deacon will have a little of everything, thank you. Especially if it comes with green eyes, or broad, curvy hips, or biceps the size of his head. Or a husky voice. Or streaked in dirt and oil and smelling of fresh sweat, apparently. Or brandishing a pair of handcuffs. Or… Wait, what was he saying? Oh, right.

He knows what he likes, and isn’t shy about going after it. But he doesn’t go back for seconds. Being who Deacon is, and doing what he does, comes with certain risks. It’s not that he cares overmuch about his own life, but it isn’t fair to others who could end up targets themselves merely because of their association with him. And it isn’t just them - it’s the lives of his fellow Railroad members, and the synths they’re trying to rescue. The Institute aren’t above using an agent’s loved ones against them - in fact, Deacon is pretty sure that’s at least partly how they lost Switchboard. So for all these reasons, Deacon prefers to remain a one-and-done kinda guy, and that seems to have been working out pretty well for a while now.

But, and he’ll be honest here, it’s been a minute. Life has kept him pretty busy over the last year or so, between Project Wanderer and everything that came from that, and mopping up after Switchboard and Ticonderoga, as well as dealing with all the usual fires that need putting out. There has been precious little opportunity of late to scratch that itch, all told - well, that’s his excuse, anyway. He’s in something of a dry patch, is the point.

So the problem, then, is this. If he were just breezing through, a stranger and no more, he would happily have let Sturges fuck him to within an inch of his life. But that’s not an option here. They’re not strangers to each other and Deacon cannot risk any kind of closer personal association, for both Sturges’ safety and the safety of the Railroad. But working with Sturges, who is - let’s face it - hot as fuck and clearly into him, might be more than his resolve can take right now.

He should have just taken the damn suits to the Atom Cats like Dez asked him to. Well, too late now. Now, all he can do is damage control, and he can start with risk reduction in the form of easing the blue-balls situation. Fortunately, his dick agrees enthusiastically, has been doing so since he lay down and tried not to think about how Sturges’ lips would look wrapped around it. But he can’t do anything about it here.

He gets up carefully so as not to let the rickety bed squeak, even though the hammering rain is loud enough to cover any sound he might make. He picks up his pack and steals silently out of the house and across the street to Casey’s place, one hand shielding his eyes from the rain. He knows Casey and Bobby are out on an extended junk-run for Dez at the other end of the Commonwealth, and probably won’t be back here until after Operation Sunrise. It’s not until he has to close his eyes against the red and blue flashing ‘open’ sign next to Casey’s front door that it occurs to him that one of Casey’s other buddies might have come over here for some privacy. Like that time he came over here only to realize that MacCready had already had the same idea. He didn’t see anything, and he didn’t stick around, but he sure heard a few things that will go with him to the grave. He pads around, listening carefully before putting his head into the bedrooms to make sure he’s alone.

Nobody here but Deacon, and the sound of the rain. He goes to the room at the back, hands already at his fly. He puts one knee up on the mattress as he lets his dick spring out, too impatient to lie down or even take his pants off. The movement increases the friction against his balls and he lets his hips thrust forwards once or twice of their own accord, pushing his dick smoothly in and out of his hand. He’d like to take his time about it, make it really good, but he and Sturges have a long walk tomorrow and he does need to sleep. A few long, smooth strokes and he’s almost there. Good grief, he really should try to get laid a little more often. He slows his hand a little, and has to bite back a groan. What is he, nineteen again?

It doesn’t take long - the moment he lets himself picture Sturges’ face in his mind, streaked with dirt, lips parted and sinking down over his dick, it’s all over. He twists to one side so he won’t splatter Casey’s spare bed and presses the back of his hand to his mouth to muffle his own cries as he starts to come. His mind crashes and reboots like a terminal and then he’s twitching and panting, legs threatening to give out from under him, a stupid grin tugging at his lips.

There’s a Silver Shroud poster on the wall in here, Deacon notices as he catches his breath. It’s pure hubris, he’s fully aware and glad beyond belief that no-one else will ever know about it, but he can’t help wondering how he would look in a Manta-Man costume.

~*~

He goes down to Red Rocket the following morning with two more coffees, as if the two of them haven’t suffered enough on that front. Dogmeat bounds out to meet him but stops short of jumping up, almost as if he knows better than to risk getting both of them burned for the sake of a little bit of temporary affection. Sound advice from a dog. 

Sturges doesn’t quite seem able to meet his eye this morning as he accepts his coffee with a mumble of thanks; if Deacon didn’t know better, he might think that maybe somebody else had to take himself in hand last night too. The thought is adorable, for some reason, and also enough to make Deacon ragingly horny all over again so he tries not to think it. Honestly, Dogmeat really is better behaved than him right now. _Down, boy. We got work to do_.

“You find a place to crash?” Sturges asks, and sips his coffee. Deacon waits; and _there’s_ the face.

“Yeah,” he says, fighting a smile. “Casa-del-Casey. Figured he wouldn’t mind, since he’s not home.” Sturges nods.

At least it’s not raining now. The sky this morning is a crisp, chilly blue, the last of the rain dripping off eaves and tree branches, sparkling in the sun. Fall is here and the temperature has dropped. It’s not quite see-your-breath weather, but it’s starting to get close. Deacon had considered asking Sturges if he minded leaving for Bunker Hill last night but decided against it for a number of reasons, not least of which was the weather. He’s glad they waited.

They leave the cups at Red Rocket. Mama won’t miss them. Casey has a metric fuck-ton of the things up at Sanctuary - Deacon should know, he carried most of them here himself. The one he’s been drinking from this morning has the Salem Museum of Witchcraft on it, and he knows for a fact he brought it here personally at Casey’s behest. Sturges gives it and his own (Slocum’s Joe) a rinse under the water pump and sets them on the counter. He tells Dogmeat that they have to go and picks up his pack and tool bag; the dog whines and sits down on the ground, chin on his paws, and watches them head off down the hill toward Concord.

“He’ll be fine,” Sturges assures Deacon. “Once he knows we ain’t comin’ back for a while, he’ll take himself on up to Sanctuary. He’s a smart dog.”

~*~

They chew over the battle at Sanctuary Hills as they walk; it’s the first time he’s really had a chance to talk to Sturges, get to know him. It turns out that Sturges hates violence; a man after his own heart.

“I may look like a bruiser,” Sturges tells him airily ( _and you do_ , Deacon thinks approvingly), “but I prefer to solve things peacefully. I ain’t sayin’ I can’t finish a fight, just that I’d rather not start one.”

Deacon approves. There’s already too much violence in the Commonwealth, and he says as much. “Too many powerful players, all out to grab whatever they can get,” he says, and Sturges nods.

“And too few resources to fight over,” he adds. “The minute anybody gets somethin’ good going, bam. Along come the Raiders. Or the Gunners. Or the Institute. Or the supermutants. If it ain’t them it’s Radscorpions, or swarms of ferals. And then it’s all over, and everybody’s dead. Brotherhood ain’t no help, and neither’s the Railroad, not for ordinary folks.” A glance, here, as if he’s watching for Deacon’s reaction. Hmm.

He’s right, and Deacon has butted heads with Dez over this many times. Not that the Railroad exactly has resources to spare, but a little really would go a long way if they could find ways to help ordinary people. Lend a hand here and there.

“Right?” He agrees now. “Casey seems to be the only one around here who actually wants to make the Commonwealth a nicer place to hang a hat.” A small pause after this, and Sturges’ shoulders stiffen briefly, a tiny crease appearing between his brows. _He’s surprised. What was he expecting me to say? Was he waiting to see if I’d jump to the Railroad’s defense? Why?_ Deacon keeps his face carefully blank as these questions and a hundred others race through his mind.

“And Preston,” Sturges adds, a second too late, as Deacon’s brain begins to race. _I haven’t done anything that might have given myself away, have I?_ He thinks frantically back on all their encounters, cannot find anything that might be cause for concern. “The General’s got the muscle to do it, and Preston’s got the heart. He believes in it. The future of the Commonwealth, I mean.” Has Sturges heard something about him? It’s unlikely but possible. “He believed in it even when I didn’t, but I guess that’s why he’s a Colonel and I’m just a grease monkey. I gotta tell you, though, when the Gunners came after us again I almost wanted to give up. Felt personal, like they’d been chasin’ us ever since Quincy and they weren’t never gonna stop, not ’til they got every last one of us. I’on’t know what it was we did to piss ‘em off so bad.” Maybe he’s reading too much into it - it wouldn’t be the first time, though paranoia has saved his life on more than one occasion.

“I don’t think it was you, that last time,” says Deacon. Does Sturges have some other reason to suspect that Deacon is Railroad? Has he heard something? From who? “I think you and everyone else from Quincy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. As I understand it, the whole thing at Sanctuary was an elaborate plot by the Institute, anyway.” He watches to see what sort of reaction mentioning the Institute provokes; Sturges just shrugs, unrolls the cigarette pack from the sleeve of his t-shirt.

“So they tell me,” he says, offering Deacon a cigarette; he accepts. “Don’t make it sting any less. More, if anything. Scarier, anyhow. Only thing worse’n Gunners is the Institute. Could be anybody,” he finishes darkly, brown eyes scanning the landscape ahead of them as Cambridge Polymer Labs draws slowly into view. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he says it.

It certainly doesn’t seem like an act from where Deacon is standing, and he’s had no small amount of practice at detecting them. From what he knows of Sturges, Deacon doubts that he’s being anything but genuine; he just isn’t that good at hiding his reactions, as evidenced by the hastily-concealed wariness he showed yesterday when Deacon showed up. Besides, if he was an Institute spy, he would never have helped Casey build the teleporter. Would never have fought against the Institute when it turned out they’d bolstered the Gunners’ numbers at Sanctuary; if he was going to break cover and switch sides at any point, that would have been the time. Deacon has extended trust with less to go on than that before now. Whatever Sturges thinks he knows, Deacon doubts he will do anything dangerous with the information. Still though, he resolves to keep his wits about him and watch what he says; as if he ever _doesn't_ do that.

“Seems like it’s over for now though,” says Deacon, accepting the proffered light. “With luck.”

“Yeah,” says Sturges, and lights his own cigarette. “Got the feeling of one dropped shoe though, don’t it? If it was me, I’d want to get out in front of it.” He looks sidelong at Deacon with the tiniest quirk of his lips, and blows out a lungful of blue smoke. Uh-huh. Not such a dumb, Southern, grease-monkey after all. If he _is_ Institute they’re all fucked, but the smile says otherwise.

“Hmm,” says Deacon. “Not a bad idea. Hey, you know what I’d do?”

“What?” asks Sturges, his lip already curling up into an amused smile. Deacon raises his hands, fingers spread in a ‘picture the scene’ kind of gesture, his cigarette held between his first and middle fingers.

“Charm offensive. Everybody loves puppies, right? Fill Sanctuary with ‘em, even the Institute aren’t heartless enough to attack puppies. Maybe kittens, too.”

Sturges laughs, a rich, round sound, and Deacon feels a sudden, strong pull in his solar plexus; that reaction takes some concealing, but though it takes every ounce of his training and experience, he manages it.

_Uh oh._

“Well, that’d work on me for sure, but I can’t say as I think it’d work on the eggheads or the robot men,” says Sturges, with a smile that forces Deacon to bite the inside of his cheek. This week is going to be tougher even than he’d thought. “Now, if it were me? I might find a way to take the fight to them. The General’s been in there before, I sent him there myself. I know he can get in and out as he pleases now, some fancy gizmo they stuck in his Pip-Boy. I’d find a way to jerry-rig it and take some folks with me, folks with a good reason to hate the Institute - plenty of those around - and I’d take ‘em down from the inside.” Hmm.

“Yeah?” Deacon asks, with a smile.

“Yeah. Put my best guys and gals in some good, energy-resistant Power Armor too. If it was me, you understand,” Sturges adds hastily.

“Just purely as a thought experiment,” Deacon clarifies, nodding.

“Right. One o’ them.” He gives a little grin, and Deacon can’t help but return it. “And if the General was plannin’ on doin’ just that, and if he were to ask me to go with him? I’d be there in a heartbeat. Just as a… what you said. A thought experiment. You know.”

“I thought you weren’t much for violence?”

At this, Sturges’ face darkens. “I ain’t,” he says. “But like I said, I may not start a fight but I will pitch in and help end one. Hypothetically speakin’, o’ course.”

“If I see him I’ll pass it along,” says Deacon. “I’m sure he could find a use for your hypothetical muscle.” He himself can think of a few uses for it, too. Hypothetically speaking.

_Stop it, Deacon._


	5. Adventure Seeker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an alley creeper, light on his feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I want to play Fallout so frickin bad right now. I’m in the middle of moving house and don’t have access to any of my stuff until May. Might be longer now because of coronavirus. Typical - the one time I’m stuck in the house for the foreseeable and I don’t have my PS4.

It’s late afternoon by the time they are nearing the eastern end of Cambridge. The crisp morning has given way to a comfortably warm afternoon - a summer swan-song. They’ve talked most of the way about various things - comic books, Casey, the Gunners, speculation on what happened to Paladin Danse and Curie (Deacon feigns complete ignorance); how Sanctuary has been getting on since the attack. Deacon attempts a couple of times to gently steer the conversation in the direction of Red Rocket and why Sturges has posted up down there away from everyone else, but it’s like talking to a wall. Every gentle attempt is equally gently and politely rebuffed. He’s had an easier time getting information out of frightened tourists. He gives up in the end, even though the polite refusal to open up about it just makes him more intrigued. He doesn’t want to piss Sturges off. He seems like the kind of guy who’s slow to anger, but Deacon saw him fighting back when the Gunners attacked; the man is formidable.

It’s been a suspiciously quiet journey so far, with only one or two feral ghouls that rose up from behind an overturned train car, and a few bloatflies outside Mass Gravel and Sand. Neither of them mentions the conspicuous lack of human adversaries; neither needs to. There are a few raiders near Wattz Consumer Electronics - but they are from different gangs, Deacon can see as he cranes his neck from the mouth of an alley, and are clearly too absorbed in warring with each other to pay much attention to two lone travelers passing through.

He strongly suspects that the power vacuum left by the fall of the Gunners is causing unforeseen issues among the remaining raider gangs. Well, if it keeps them occupied and out of the Railroad’s way, Deacon will take it. With any luck, there will be fewer of them terrorizing Bunker Hill, too. Should make it easier to slip in unnoticed.

He is about to discover another knock-on effect of the Gunners’ downfall. They are just approaching the BADTFL offices about a mile outside Bunker Hill when a noise on the edge of Deacon’s hearing makes him grab Sturges’ arm and draw him to a halt. He pauses, frozen, straining his ears. To his credit, Sturges looks puzzled but says nothing. 

There. Up ahead, from just around the corner, they hear:

“… won’t say that when _I_ am Overlord!”

Deacon starts to walk backwards, keeping his steps as noiseless as possible, and drawing Sturges with him. They retreat into the growing shadow of an alley to their right. Deacon pushes Sturges behind him and crouches at the mouth of the alley, watching. He hears Sturges set down his pack and open it, looks back quickly to see him pulling out a double-barrelled shotgun as quietly as he can.

Deacon himself has a Tinker Tom special with a pretty sweet silencer - it’s no Deliverer, but it’s served him well. It’s already in his hand now, though he might as well spit for all the good it will do him here. He peers out of the mouth of the alley to see five supermutants and two of their hounds walking along the road coming up from the BADTFL offices, squabbling among themselves. One of them raises a fist as they argue and thumps another on the top of its head, and they stop to have a brief fistfight.

The scuffling pair shift to one side to reveal what Deacon was most afraid of - Suicider. _Oh goody_. Shame it didn’t manage to get involved in the punching, that would have solved the whole problem entirely. His little pea shooter is worse than useless now. Even if he could manage to hit the nuke strapped to the suicider’s arm at this distance, it would only bounce off harmlessly and alert them to his presence. By the time the suicider get close enough for his pistol to be effective, the blast would take Deacon out as well - same for Sturges’ shotgun. For all Deacon rags on Bobby, he could sure use a good sniper right now. He turns to Sturges and jerks his chin at the weapon.

“No good,” he murmurs. “Suicider.”

 _Well, shit_ , he sees Sturges mouth, brows drawing into a frustrated frown.

What the hell are _supermutants_ doing up here, anyway? They aren’t usually seen around this area because of the - _fuck_. The Gunners are gone, and the raiders in the area are all fighting each other for the Gunners’ old territory. No-one in east Cambridge left to present a challenge, so the supermutants have just strolled on over the bridge unimpeded.

Just as Deacon makes this realization, the ‘mutants stop fighting and resume their slow walk. As he watches them draw nearer, one of the hounds stops again and sniffs the air, turning its head from side to side.

 _Fuck_.

In growing horror, Deacon watches as the hound lifts its great wedge-shaped head and gives a trumpeting howl - and starts to run right for the alley in which he and Sturges are hiding. The other one is hot on its heels, and the suicider is the first of the supermutants to follow - of fucking _course_ \- as the nuke on its arm starts to wind up with a high-pitched whine. Deacon raises from his crouch and turns to see Sturges already doing the same, and they both run for the other end of the alley.

It’s blocked off, but not by a wall - there’s a wooden fence about six feet high. Sturges reaches it first and tosses his bags over. He turns back to Deacon just as they hear paws skittering and sliding on the cracked concrete at the other end of the alley, accompanied by another trumpeting cry and a snarl. Sturges looks at Deacon.

“Over or through?” he asks, lifting the shotgun to show what he means.

Deacon looks back at the mutant hounds, which are starting to find their feet again. Putting an obstacle between them and the hounds, even temporarily, might just give them enough time to get away. “Over,” he says, deciding quickly. Sturges doesn’t hesitate.

He throws the shotgun down and laces his fingers together, bending down to make a stirrup. Deacon blinks but there isn’t time to argue - he does as he’s told and lets Sturges hoist him up, catches the top of the fence just in time to keep from being tossed right over it, and gets his feet under him again to land on the other side. He turns to see Sturges’ fingers on the top of the fence, can hear the mutant hounds start to skid to a halt behind him. A snarl, and then a cry of pain from Sturges - and one of his hands disappears from the top of the fence. Worse, Deacon can hear the whine of the suicider’s nuke growing louder. He scans the fence - a knothole in the wood. He takes a quick look and sees the mutant’s jaws clamped around Sturges’ leg, shaking him as it tries to drag him away. Deacon sticks the barrel of his pistol through the hole and fires - there is a pained yelp. He can’t tell if it has let go, can’t see past the gun. He keeps firing, having to hope that he’s not hitting Sturges. More yelps follow, but he doesn’t have the time or space to feel relieved about it.

A heart-stopping moment later the fence shakes violently as Sturges finally pulls himself up and over, and Deacon straightens, relieved, as Sturges lands on his side of the fence with a stagger and a cry of pain. The leg of his overalls is ripped, and there’s blood - Deacon can’t tell how bad it is yet. He gets his shoulder under Sturges’ armpit and helps him limp away as fast as they can. There’s no time to grab the bags, and Sturges was forced to abandon the shotgun too, Deacon realizes as they flee.

They aren’t quite far enough away when the fence and the alley mouth explode, and the blast knocks them right off their feet and into the dust - Deacon’s chin bounces off the concrete and his teeth slam together. He doesn’t realize that he has blacked out until he comes around a second later to find his head pounding violently and the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. There’s a buzzing in his ears and his vision is blurred, and his chest, still sore from the grenade blast at Sanctuary, is on _fire_. He touches a hand to his stinging chin, and his fingers come away slicked with red and specks of gravel. Something else is wrong - it’s too bright. For a moment he can’t figure out why but then his sunglasses swim into view, lying a foot or so in front of him in the dust and miraculously unbroken. He picks them up and puts them back on, wincing against the nausea and the pounding of his head, and looks over at Sturges. He doesn’t look much better off than Deacon is; he’s blinking, eyes unfocused, but he’s conscious. Deacon notices with a brief jolt of amusement that the pompadour has survived the ordeal almost entirely intact.

_What does he use, Wonderglue?_

They can still hear the remaining supermutants shouting, but from further away than Deacon would have expected or feared. He wonders for a second why they haven’t come thundering out of the remains of the alley to finish the two of them off, but then, to his fierce joy and relief, he discovers that the buzzing in his ears is in fact not in his ears at all. It’s coming from the Vertibird that is now engaging the supermutants back on the far end of the alley; they must have been drawn by the suicider’s mushroom cloud. Deacon hadn’t heard it in all the commotion. A few seconds later and there is the red snap of laser rifles, and he hears the return fire of the supermutants. Well, if this isn’t the second time in two weeks he’s been pleased to see the Brotherhood. He’ll have to send Maxson a gift basket.

Deacon tries not to cough in case he pukes, spits blood instead. “Come on,” he says to Sturges, and pushes himself up off the ground ignoring the screaming pain in his head and chest. “We gotta go.” He reaches back down to help Sturges and gets a double handful of solid bicep. He’ll think about that later. 

Sturges doesn’t seem to have quite shaken off the effects of the blast yet, and it takes him a second and a few false starts before Deacon can drag him unsteadily to his feet. The bitten leg is going to be a problem; he can hardly seem to put any weight on it at all. Once he’s finally upright, Deacon gets Sturges’ arm around his shoulders and they set off again. Unfortunately at first they both try to move in opposite directions - Deacon in the general direction of ‘away’, and Sturges back toward the alley. They both stop and look at each other.

“My tools,” says Sturges. “And my gun.”

Deacon shakes his head. “Nope. Even if they’re somehow not scrap metal, they definitely glow in the dark now.”

Sturges makes a pained face, but nods. They stumble and stagger away from the firefight behind them, Sturges with his arm around Deacon’s shoulders and limping heavily. Deacon has room in his brain to think: _Man, I hope that Vertibird doesn’t crash on us when the supermutants shoot it down_. He does not voice this thought.

He gets his bearings as they walk - the Bunker Hill Monument reaches up into the deepening sky to their left, towering high above the buildings between them and it. If they take _that_ alley, that should set them in the right direction. He thinks about stopping to take a look at Sturges’ leg, takes a quick glance down at it. It’s not trailing blood, so a tourniquet shouldn’t be necessary. Stopping to do first aid here might do more harm than waiting to get to Kay’s clinic, and they can’t be far away now.

“How’s the leg?” he asks, to make sure Sturges agrees with this plan.

“’S okay,” says Sturges. “Boot soaked up most of the bite. Came down on it pretty good hoppin’ that fence though.”

“Can you make it another half mile or so?” It’ll be more than that, but not much. Sturges nods.

“Yeah. Thanks, by the way.” Deacon nods back around the muscular forearm draped across his shoulders.

“You too.”

“My pleasure.” The smile that accompanies this last is too warm, and Deacon can’t look at it for long.

The firefight behind them continues for a little while as they stumble toward Bunker Hill - then there is the inevitable sound of an engine in trouble, and then a whine and a crash and the sky lights up orange for the second time in as many minutes. Deacon spares a quick glance behind them as the fiery light dies down, but cannot see the wreckage itself behind the buildings. He takes a breath and lets it out.

“Ad Victoriam, you poor bastards,” he says quietly. “So long, and thanks.”

~*~

They finally limp up the steps to Bunker Hill as the light from the late afternoon is taking on a bluish tinge; they hear a shout, and a caravan guard comes running toward them. He takes Sturges’ other side and helps Deacon get him up the steps and into Kay’s clinic. It’s not exactly the quiet entrance Deacon had planned, but at least there aren’t any raiders.

“Thanks,” says Sturges to the guard as they set him down on the nearest vacant bed, and Deacon gives him a nod.

“I’ll go get Kay,” says the guard, and races off in the direction of the market place. Deacon kneels to help Sturges get his boots off. He can tell already that the ankle is swollen, but the bites don’t seem deep and have scabbed over.

“How’s it look,” Sturges asks, sounding dubious.

“Probably not as bad as it feels,” Deacon assures him, and straightens as Kay approaches. She is finishing a mouthful of something; they must have interrupted her dinner. She gives Deacon a quick, unreadable look, and goes over to Sturges.

“Alright, what happened,” she says, frowning at Sturges’ foot.

“Got bit by a mutant hound, then jarred it pretty good,” Sturges explains. Kay kneels down and takes a closer look.

“Hmm. You’ve twisted it, but it doesn’t seem broken,” she diagnoses, and presses her fingertips gently into the swollen area. “I’m Kay,” she adds. “You two?”

“I’m Deacon,” says Deacon, knowing that Kay won’t blink no matter what name he gives, “and this here’s Sturges.” 

“Good to meet you both,” says Kay, straightening. “I’m gonna clean out those bites and wrap your foot. Keep off it for tonight and rest it as much as you can tomorrow and it’ll be fine.”

Sturges looks up at her. “I got a lot of work to do startin’ tomorrow,” he says. “Or I did. Lost all my tools gettin’ this,” he adds, jerking his chin at the swollen foot.

Kay fixes him with a look. “Can you work sitting down?”

“Prob’ly. Some of it, anyhow.”

“I’ll help,” says Deacon. “If there aren’t tools here, I can get some.” Kay transfers her look to him.

“Sounds like you got it all worked out, then,” she says, and goes back over to her counter, rummaging for supplies. “Deb might have some tools over in the store, by the way.” Deacon follows her over, taking out some caps from his pocket as he goes.

“How much to treat him?” he asks, not loud enough to be obvious, but loud enough to be sure that Sturges can hear him.

“Not much, ten caps’ll cover it,” she says and then adds, under her breath, “he one of yours?”

“Nope,” says Deacon equally quietly, and hands her ten caps. She nods, pockets the caps, and turns back to Sturges.

“Alrighty. Let’s see about that foot.”

~*~

They both wash off some of the dirt and blood, and Kay cleans the grit out of the wound on Deacon’s chin, checks his eyes with a flashlight. When she is satisfied that he’s not concussed, she releases them both. Deacon helps Sturges to his room at the Savoldis’ and goes back down to the clinic; he wants to know if Stockton is in town but doesn’t want to be seen looking for him. It’s fully night by now, and distinctly chillier now that the sun has gone down. Bunker Hill is quiet; everyone’s either drinking around the barrel fire at the Savoldis’ or gone home.

“Thanks,” he says as he approaches Kay’s counter, and she looks up from her cleaning and nods.

“Anytime. Oh, not for nothing, but there was a Brotherhood Paladin here a while back. I mention it because while he was here he painted over the decals on his Power Armor, like he was on the run or something. Had a sick girl with him, too. Thought it was unusual enough to be worth mentioning.”

Curie was sick? That’s news to Deacon.

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“He didn’t have the caps to pay for the girl’s treatment, so I sent him out to get medical supplies for the clinic. Didn’t think I’d see him again, but a day later, back he comes. Got the supplies, too.”

Huh.

“They give any names?” Not that he thinks there could be another ex-Brotherhood guy running around, but Deacon is more curious as to whether it would have occurred to Danse to use a false name.

“Curie, the girl. Sweet thing. And he said his name was Dan, but they both stumbled over it enough that I know for a fact it’s not his real name.” Deacon doesn’t smile at the irony of this, through long practice. Paladin Danse, giving fake names. What _is_ the world coming to?

“Uh huh. Thanks for the intel. Stockton here?”

Kay shakes her head. “Nope, he’s out with a package. Hey… I heard there’s something big going down soon…?”

“Cannot confirm or deny,” Deacon replies. “Thanks.” It’ll annoy her, but if she’s heard about it then she already knows too much for a tourist. He had been uncertain about bringing Kay on board, but Stockton had had a point when he said that sometimes escapees had medical issues that needed addressing before they could be moved. They didn’t all come through Bunker Hill, but having Kay on hand took some of the heat off Dr. Amari.

Well. Danse and Curie, who would have thought. He’d gone out alone, knowing the Brotherhood were after him, just to get supplies to pay for Curie’s treatment. He _must_ be in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if there’s an open-ended alley near BADTFL, and cannot check due to aforementioned separation from my PlayStation. My sandbox now!


	6. These Barriers of Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I could only reach you, if I could make you smile... If I could only reach you, that would really be a breakthrough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little flashback from Sturges' point of view. A glimpse into his recent past, and a little further back to Quincy.

It’s hot; Sturges doesn’t mind, he would almost always rather sweat than shiver. He is putting a patch over yet another hole in one of the houses in Sanctuary as he turns to see the General approaching, and with him is a guy in sunglasses and a white t-shirt. Sturges has seen many of these people arrive with General Raines since he and the rest of the Quincy survivors posted up in Sanctuary a few months back. The General has been making a lot of friends since he un-froze, and it ain’t hard to see why. He’s competent and friendly, and he goes out of his way to help others. First thing he did when the Quincy crew arrived - apart from save them from the raiders and the deathclaw - was help Sturges set up some beds and water purifiers, get the gardens going, and set up a beacon.

Some of the General’s friends stick around - like Cait, Piper, Hancock, and that Brotherhood fella. Some, like MacCready, spend more time traveling with the General than hanging around at Sanctuary. Sturges finds himself hoping that this new guy will be among the former group; it would definitely improve the view. Skinny, with some wiry muscle to his frame, and a pomp to rival Sturges’ own (though he will soon find out that it’s a wig - shame, but he looks just as good bald). Nice ass, too, Sturges observes as the guy turns a circle, looking around himself at the little community the General has built. He looks a little older, in his forties maybe, but that ain’t never put Sturges off. He himself is on the wrong side of thirty-five.

The General asks a few questions about how the repairs are going, and Sturges gives the usual answers. Slow, but still moving. Mama’s generator over at the Flamingo broke down the other week, and Sturges has had to cannibalize one of the water purifiers for parts. It ain’t urgent, yet, but more desk fans would help. He knows some of the General’s friends have little time for hauling junk around the Commonwealth; he flicks a glance at the new guy to gauge his opinion on the matter but there’s nothing in his expression or manner to indicate either approval or disapproval. The General smiles by way of an answer and hefts the pack on his shoulder, and points to New Guy, who is carrying a similar burden. Sturges thanks them both warmly - this will definitely help speed repairs along.

“Desk fans for you, free strength and cardio workout for me. Win-win,” says New Guy, tongue firmly in cheek and with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Cute _and_ funny. Well, this is just downright inconvenient. Sturges returns the smile with one of his own, tells him he’s much obliged.

New Guy leaves with the General again the next day, and Sturges sighs a little to himself when he finds out. Oh well. Easy come, easy go. He hears the name ‘Deacon’ spoken by one or two of the others, though nobody seems to know much of anything about him. The Paladin don’t like him, but that don’t say much. If anything it makes Sturges like him more. He would never say a bad word about any of the General’s friends, and the Paladin has hauled his fair share of coffee cups, but there’s just something about him that grates. Sturges’ ain’t never been a fan of the Brotherhood; they make his teeth itch.

~*~

It’s a month or so before Sanctuary sees the General again and Sturges has all but forgotten about Deacon in that time, being busy as a hound in flea season with repairs and putting in new infrastructure and such. He is up along the river a ways for most of the day fixing a broken water pump, and doesn’t find out they’re back until he heads over to the Flamingo that evening for a well-earned beer. Deacon and the General and MacCready are deep in conversation about something, sitting at a table in the corner away from the others. Looks important, and Sturges doesn’t think an interruption would be welcomed so he takes his beer and sits down with Preston and Piper instead.

They have been talking for a while in the deepening twilight when the sound of a soft laugh catches his attention - he looks over, and realizes that it was Deacon, shoulders still shaking in the warm orange glow of the oil lamps. Sturges experiences a sudden, fervent hope that he will get a chance to make Deacon laugh like that one day, and well, don’t that just run him around the barn.

The General and MacCready leave again the next morning, but to Sturges’ delight Deacon sticks around this time. He sees him taking up the place MacCready left in the garden, tending razorgrain, and allows himself a few seconds to admire that tight, wiry body as he works up a sweat. Hey, ain’t no harm in looking.

There is a turret on the fritz; it needs rewiring and though it’s a small job, it’s too fiddly to do alone. Sturges would usually ask Preston, but the Colonel is nowhere to be found. He thinks about asking Deacon and almost does - but then he hears that voice in his head again. Deacon’s probably exclusively a ladies’ man, and there ain’t no sense in getting his heart all twisted up over it. He’s cute as hell, but that’s just how Sturges’ luck goes and he’s already let his feelings get away from him. There’s some folks as don’t take so kind to the type of attention Sturges has to give, and he’d rather keep it to himself than end up getting hurt and making everything awkward. So he asks Marcy for help with the turret instead - he knows she’s snappish, but it don’t matter to him if he can help her take her mind off her troubles for a while - and then the day inevitably comes when Deacon leaves again.

Now that he and the others are no longer running for their lives and things are somewhat settled in Sanctuary, Sturges has more time to think than he would like, even with all the chores. Deacon’s leaving again has got him thinking that maybe he should have said something after all. It’s been a minute, and much as he tries to lose himself in the constant work it’s hard not to feel lonely sometimes. Especially when Preston starts putting his arm around Piper’s shoulders of an evening, and later when the General and MacCready seem to be getting close. When Cait starts drunkenly hitting on him one night at the Flamingo, it just makes the loneliness even sharper.

She’s a pretty girl, and there’s no bullshit about her at all, which Sturges appreciates. If nothing else, though, she’s a little too fond of violence and chems for his taste. He ain’t about to tell her how to live her life, but he ain’t about to join her neither. Not to mention, well, Sturges ain’t never been a ladies’ man and that’s the truth of it. He politely disentangles himself from her, hoping that she’ll have forgotten all about it when she sobers up.

She reminds him a little of Fenton, he thinks fondly, later on. She drinks like he did, anyway. Sturges misses those nights in the Church back in Quincy when he was working late on something or other, and Fenton would bring him a beer or four. The memories come with an ache; it’s dulled over time, but it’s still there, especially on nights when he can’t sleep for being overtired or the dreams wake him up again.

~*~

“Hey, Sturges, you still wrenching on that piece of shit?”

Sturges turns away from the Power Armor he’s fitting with a couple of kinetic servos to see Fenton, freckled face smirking, holding out a Gwinnett. He’s three sheets to the wind already. Sturges feels his lips pull into a fond smile, and accepts the beer with a grateful nod.

“Oh, you bet,” he says, and takes a swig. “Reckon I’m done for right now, though.”

“Yeah?” Fenton asks, with a wicked grin. “Gonna turn in soon?”

Sturges quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah, you fixin’ to join me?”

“Reckon I might,” drawls Fenton, in an exaggerated parody of Sturges’ Southern accent, and making him laugh.

The dance is growing comfortably familiar by now. Sturges will be working late, Fenton will show up with a few beers and they’ll sit and talk and laugh, and then one of them will lean over and kiss the other, and the beers will end up forgotten. Usually Sturges will just push him down onto the floor of the Church and have his way with him right there, but tonight he takes Fenton’s hand and pulls him toward the stairs. There’s no resistance, but he becomes aware that he’s getting a Look.

“More comfortable upstairs,” is all he can make himself say back over his shoulder.

“… Okay.” 

Sturges pulls the scarf off Fenton’s neck, kisses the pale, freckled skin he finds beneath it, relishes the feeling of Fenton’s arms wrapping around him, his fingers curling and uncurling at the small of his back. He slips one hand underneath Fenton’s shirt and the other up into his bright red hair. He was right, it’s much more comfortable up here.

Later, as Fenton falls asleep in his arms, Sturges pulls the blanket over them both and thinks about how nice it would be to be able to do this all the time. Fenton has made it known that he would prefer if they kept things casual - not in so many words, but the message was received loud and clear. The fact that he’s here, now, falling asleep in Sturges’ bed might signal a change, it might not. Sturges don’t want to push him for fear of chasing him away.

~*~

He knows it wouldn’t have made a lick of difference if he’d confessed his feelings that night, or any time before - before the Gunners came. They still would have been in different places that day, doing different things, and he’d still be gone and Sturges would still be here, all alone again. He knows what he feels ain’t nothing compared with what the Longs went through, what they’re still going through, but not a day goes by when he don’t think about Fenton and wish that he’d told him how he felt.

He makes up his mind that the next time Deacon shows up, he will shoot his shot. The worst the man can say is no, and Sturges is already half-expecting that anyhow. Sturges can handle rejection, but he has regrets enough to last a lifetime.

Meanwhile the dreams are getting worse, and coming more often. Blinding expanses of white - white walls, white ceilings, white tables, people in white coats. They’re doing something to him, not always the same thing. Sometimes they’re making parts of him move - he lifts an arm without meaning to. Other times they are talking to him. It sounds like orders, but Sturges never knows what it is they’re saying until he obeys them by standing up, sitting down, standing up, sitting down… He’s never frightened by the dreams until he wakes in a cold sweat.

He’s had these dreams before - back in Quincy. Never so often, and never so intense though. He thinks about Mama Murphy and her visions, and how she only has them when she’s been doing chems. Sturges doubts that beer could have the same effect on a person, but beer’s all he does, he never touches the harder stuff. Once or twice he considers asking Mama if she can tell anything about the dreams, but firstly he knows she’ll have to take more chems to tell him anything and he don’t want that, and secondly he’s afraid he already knows what she might say. He’s heard what other people say, about odd dreams. Combine that with the gaps in the memory - which he also has - and all told Sturges is starting to feel like he’s one bubble off plumb. Which is bad enough on its own, but the thought that he might hurt someone he loves is more than he can bear. 

He is torn between wanting to get away from the others to make sure that he don’t hurt these people he’s come to think of as family, and wanting to stay to help defend them against the attack that Preston is so worried about. The traps Preston let him set around the perimeter will help, but it’ll be nothing to being there himself with a gun in his hands. It’s an awful decision to have to make, but finally he decides on a compromise: Red Rocket. He’ll go down there by himself - close enough to help if something happens, far enough that if the eggheads push the big red Sturges button, he might have a shot at turning the gun on himself before he can hurt anybody.

He has just crossed the bridge and is heading down the hill when he sees a whole mess of Gunners coming up the other way from Concord.

He sees Deacon after that, alright. The noise and the chaos once the General has arrived and launched his counter-attack is unbelievable. Worse than Quincy, almost, but at least they’re fighting now and no longer tied up and helpless. He is with Preston and Piper and the General, and they’re being pushed down the hill by a group of Gunners, and suddenly out of nowhere Deacon appears at his side. Sturges doesn’t have time to do more than blink in his surprise, because the Gunners are forcing them into the last house before the bridge in spite of Deacon’s help. He’ll remember the sound Preston’s arm makes when the bone snaps until the day he dies, no two ways about it. They are still reeling from that when the grenade comes in through the window, and before anyone can move or think Deacon is throwing himself at it.

Sturges has no attention to spare for Ronnie and the settlers, who come swarming over the bridge and past the house in a sea of people - or even the General, when he disappears. He and Piper and Preston are trying hard to save Deacon’s life, but nothing they’re doing seems to be working. The rest of the evening passes by in a smear of confusion and blood and panic, until Sturges is sitting on a bench outside the Flamingo staring at his bloody hands as the sun rises pink and orange in the east. Mama Murphy is with him, sitting in silence.

“Why, Mama,” he asks, too tired to be angry.

“Probably even _they_ don’t know,” she replies. She means the Gunners; he knows without having to ask. “The only thing that matters now is that everything they did was a waste of time. We lost a lot, I know, but they lost everything in the end.”

The next few days are spent dividing his time between Red Rocket, building beds and camp fires and helping treat minor wounds, and Sanctuary, helping with the repairs and checking in on Deacon whenever he gets a spare second. Nobody seems to be able to tell him much about Deacon’s condition. In desperation he goes to Mama Murphy.

When he asks his question, she looks at him and he knows that she knows. Probably knew before he did. Definitely knew before he asked.

“Look, kid, I’m sorry, but that’s not how the Sight works,” she says at last. “Some things are just too up in the air. But if you want to tip the scales a little, well. It definitely won’t hurt if he has a good reason to stick around.”

Sturges nods at this, thinking. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah.”

He goes into the makeshift hospital and finds Deacon right away; he is asleep, or unconscious, but fortunately nobody else is already visiting with him. Intending to say a few quiet words just to let him know he’s there, he goes over - he is so preoccupied with what he’s going to say that he ain’t watching his feet, one of which catches on a chair and scrapes it across the floor.


End file.
